


Two of Swords

by bronsautracks



Series: Red Brands, Mage Hands verse [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: But never over Solas, F/F, F/M, Fragmented love story, Lavellan is mostly with Isabela, Lots of Angst, Past Hawke/Isabela (Dragon Age), call me a pony bc I know one trick, idk but Lavellan gets preggo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28409658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronsautracks/pseuds/bronsautracks
Summary: Just pieces of Briathara’s story in case anyone wants to read it.Set in the same universe as Red Brands, Mage Hands, from the POV of the Inquisitor.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Isabela/Female Lavellan (Dragon Age)
Series: Red Brands, Mage Hands verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080761





	Two of Swords

Lavellan heard the faint click of the door to the disused servants passage behind her as she studied the war table with occasional input from her advisors. Still rather new to her post as Inquisitor, she was mostly at a loss to determine how to approach the daunting task of the Winter Palace, just as they’d managed to clean up the last bits of the mess at Adamant. There was only Erimond’s judgement to settle now; something she’d been putting off, as she was vehemently advised against her initial preference to sentence him to tranquility. She’d been assured that as a non-magic user, she didn’t have a real understanding of what she was asking, and would receive intense backlash from the large portion of Inquisition members who were mages.

An unfamiliar scout appeared at her side, saying, “News for you, Inquisitor.”

After a beat she realized the scout was waiting for leave to share such news, so she nodded her assent.

“You asked to be notified when the good captain returned,” the scout informed her, “She arrived at the gates this morning.”

Lavellan’s heart sank, the memory of Isabela’s rage and Hawke’s dying wish whirling furiously around her chest to tie her up in knots.

“Thank you,” she responded tightly, and the scout rather astutely took that as a dismissal.

“Will you be visiting Captain Isabela before the trial, Your Worship?” Josephine asked.

“No,” she decided, “let’s be done with Erimond. I will sort out more personal matters on my own time.”

Though it seemed matters would sort themselves as they saw fit and when.

As she made to conclude the (in her oppinion) pointless show of a trial in the main hall, a light, shining in from the stained glass above her, glinted off some gold jewelry in the crowd behind the magister.

He went on about being called to higher things, but she stared past him, trying to catch sight of whatever it was she saw before. She couldn’t fathom why it had even caught her eye. 

The room went tense as something dark and metallic soared over the heads of the people gathered, to skid to a landing just a few meager feet from where the Inquisitor sat. Cullen, who was closest aside from Lavellan, made to pick it up.

She wasn’t sure what compelled her, as she hadn’t quite registered what she was looking at but she stopped him with a single motion of her hand.

“It is not for you,” she told him, and this she knew deep in her bones, even before she realized:

It was a light gauntlet.

She stood and moved toward it. In time with her, Captain Isabela, Queen of the Eastern Seas, appeared from the midst of the watchers on.

She locked eyes with her and made to bow as she bent to pick it up.

“To the death?” Lavellan asked curiously, mostly because her own death at this point seemed rather implausible. She wondered if she was allowed to die, and slowly stood up straight, examining the make of the gauntlet with intrigue.

“Something like that,” Isabela said.

“Right now?” Briathara took a moment to be annoyed that she had only worn a leather jerkin and chainmail today, as she hadn’t planned to venture out. At least she kept her nice daggers on her, just in case.

“You’ve been keeping tabs on me. I thought you’d make time for me, since you knew I was here.”

Briathara tried to keep a stoic façade, though her face felt hot at the thought of being found out. 

Isabela’s expression hardened once the silence had gone on past her limit. “So, you accept.”

She resisted the urge to shake the gauntlet as though to emphasize she’d picked it up. It didn’t seem like a question in any case.

“I accept.”

The sound of daggers leaving their sheathes was rather drowned out by the shuffling footsteps of people trying to get out of the way of an impromptu duel. Briathara watched Erimond be dragged to the sidelines looking outraged, and when almost all had cleared their path, it became clear that the two who remained had done so intentionally.

Varric and Solas.

Varric was imploring Isabela, but Briathara was caught up trying to decipher the mage’s expression as he approached her, slow and cautious, like she might bolt.

“Do you think this wise, Vhenan?”

She could tell he was disappointed; something in his tone. He didn’t sound worried for her, which she found a comfort in itself.

“It doesn’t matter what I think. A challenge was put forth and I’ve accepted.”

“Ma nuvenin.”

And that was it. Varric took longer; he’s a talker and with him at least, Isabela was indulgent, but even his clever words could not sway her.

“Enough, Varric,” she said.

When he looked back at the Inquisitor, she nodded her agreement. He stood aside.

The moment she had a clear path, Isabela charged her and she found herself floundering to counter a flurry of wickedly curved blades. She dashed backwards trying to gain some advantage, but she was matched step for step.

She felt her back hit the stony wall in the back of the main hall and ducked sideways, launching herself forward slightly to get around her opponent. A grenade exploded next to her feet, and from it expanded a cloud of strange smelling powder that made her dizzy when she inhaled. She stumbled out of a roll to escape the substance and found she’d lost sight of her opponent. Woozy, and a little blind she resorted to taunting.

“Oh, are we using dirty tricks? Afraid you can’t take me in a fair fight, _Captain_?”

“Dirty tricks?” Isabelas tone was playful almost, and seemingly coming from different directions at once. She thought she could see shadows dancing around in the mist and contemplated stabbing at them. She was just regaining her bearings when she felt her feet swept from beneath her and fell to the cold, hard floor with a grunt of surprise. “I save those for the ones I like.”

She was hovering over Briathara now, and the doubles she was seeing were slowly becoming one again. To the naked eye it might seem as though she had her pinned, but her daggers were held out to the side, ready, waiting.

Briathara smiled up at her cheekily, “Not all of us have such high standards.” 

Sensing the Inquisitor’s change in mood and what that indicated she appeared to prepare to escape. She leaned carefully onto her left foot to spring away, setting off the spike trap Briathara had dropped seconds before. It barely grazed the outside of her boot as she all but yelped in surprise and leaned decidedly in the opposite direction, staggering to catch herself against the door to Lavellan’s quarters.

Feeling a bit chipper at having the upper hand, she rolled to stand, taking a wide stance and spinning her daggers to hold them properly.

“If you wanted in my bed, Captain, I’m afraid that ship has sailed.”

“Have it your way,” she said with a smirk, and seemed to vanish into thin air, she moved so quickly to dart past her.

Lavellan followed suit, her motions sharp, and staccato as Isabela flowed around and away like waves. 

Their duel dipped into the rotunda briefly and halfway across the bridge to Cullens quarters before Briathara found herself on the defensive and pinned to the side. She gripped the rough, rocky edge, wrapping her legs around Isabela and flipping them both over the side. 

And somehow Isabela had the softer landing anyway.

She charged her all the same, realizing her stamina was waning and if she wanted to win, it would have to be now.

The Captain fended her off more easily than she’d have liked to admit, and threw a thin grappling chain to drag herself close before kicking viciously off of Lavellan’s chest.

The Inquisitor fell backward, gasping as the wind was knocked from her lungs. Isabela bore down on her, one dagger’s edge coming to rest at her throat. She felt it nick the skin when she swallowed.

This was the end, she realized. For letting Hawke take the fall for them all, perhaps she deserved it.

She dropped her daggers into the soft, snowy grass.

“I wanted to know if you were really the savior of us all, if you were worth losing Hawke.”

“And?” Briathara questioned, breathless.

“Hawke would have beat me,” she replied dismissively.

So this really was it, then. Briathara further lifted her chin, baring her throat for the end.

“Why are you having me followed? Why can’t you leave me alone?” Isabela asked, her voice serious and soft. Sad.

Time stood still around them, and Briathara mourned herself a little bit. Mourned the life she should have lived, instead of being Herald, Inquisitor, or anyone who had to choose whether a person lives or dies. It wasn’t fair. 

But at least now, she was listening. Now, she could finally tell her.

“ _Safe harbors, Isabela_ ,” she fought to say, knowing that unless she said them now, no matter how this truly ended, she would never be able to relay Hawke’s dying words. She met the Captain’s searching gaze, feeling weak with sorrow and regret.

The Captain shut her eyes tightly and Lavellan felt the blade that trapped her shake in her grasp. She was hesitating.

In the blink of an eye she stepped back, sheathing her daggers. She sniffed, appearing to take in the brisk mountain air to steel herself. She stayed that way for a while, looking all around Skyhold as though it might provide her an answer that no one knew she had asked for.

“Your life is mine,” she said at long last, once Lavellan was debating whether or not to stand up. “When this is all over, I’ll come to collect.”

“I understand,” the Inquisitor responded, getting to her feet.

The Captain was already striding away towards Cullen’s quarters, likely to receive orders and disappear again.

The Inquisitor felt the soft ebbing away of a barrier that had been cast, and the telltale crackle of ice, set to assail the attacker when the barrier ran out.

She glanced upward, expecting to see Solas, but instead, Vivienne stood at her usual spot on the balcony overlooking the courtyard, leaning on her staff as she looked on in blatant distaste.


End file.
